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A Rant about Women

This story is taken from Answer Me! zine, issue #2, 1992 and
written by DEBBIE GOAD.

We're told that little girls are made of "sugar and spice and
everything nice." They dress in frilly pink lace. Bows and ribbons
adorn their pigtails. They're small, delicate cherubs. Maurice
Chevalier thanked heaven for little girls. He's dead! And those
fragile, sweet, petite brats he sang about grew up to be full-time
bitches. Spineless cunts.

Go now, my friend, into a ladies' room and take a deep whiff. Smell
it? It's the stench of pussy, the annoying aroma of VAGINA..
Women's genitals crank out horrible cottage-cheese like discharges.
Chicks may spend hours preening in a bathroom, but it won't mask
their rank. They baptize themselves with perfumes and squirt
douches up their gashes in an endless pursuit of sparkling-clean
femininity. The pungency of their colognes, hair sprays, nail
polishes, and skin creams smells worse than rotted corpses. But at
least these cosmetics smell better than the average rancid snatch.
When my husband first went down on me, he was shocked to find
that he wasn't taking a trip to Sea World. He asked if I was from
another planet. I had (and have) no smell. This is rarer than a
talking mule. Whenever I've sniffed my bloodiest tampons, even
ones with clots the size of egg yolks, there's no odor. I can't say the
same for my "sisters."

There's nothing worse than a room full of smelly women. With ear-
piercing voices, shrill laughs, and affected stances, they are
talentless hens shamelessly cackling their needs. These yentas hang
together in coffee klatches, feeding off gossip from their
"girlfriends." But do they truly care about one another? Hell, no!
They're battle-axes who eye each other suspiciously. They compete
more viciously than men. Women were born to claw each other's
eyes out. These wenches are not true friends and can't be trusted.
These whores congregate to discuss such vital topics as how many
carats lie in their diamond wedding band, who's pregnant, the latest
action on the soaps, their mother-in-law's lung operation, home
appliances, linoleum, breast implants, and what brand of coffee
tastes best. It's downhill from there. As they age, their brain rot
spreads. They develop cellulite, sprout hemorrhoids, hit
menopause, buy wigs, dry up and then, thank God, they finally die.
But their daughters continue the she-devil cycle.
Dumb-ass damsels in distress. Dames consider themselves victims,
yet they victimize their male counterparts. They become their man's
mommy. He's their puppet, and mommy's in control. Mommy pulls
that invisible cat-o-nine-tales out of her panties and pussy-whips
her little boy into emotional slavery. She screams out demands at
her boyfriend or husband. He passively obliges, his balls retreating
into his sac. Women are calculating hypocrites. They'll attack a man
for being a "sexist pig" while rating his butt, joking about his hair,
and measuring his desirability by his savings-account balance.
Women scom men for being isensitive and money-hungry but
chastise them if their gifts didn't cost enough. Men shouldn't take
it. But while our society has always accepted women belittling
men, it never Iterates men abusing women.
Women bitch about equality, but down deep, they still want Mr.
Testicles to pay. Clinging to their partner with eyes pleading, their
burning desire is to force lover-boy into making that costly
purchase. They use guys for jewelry, food, rent, clothes, car s,
furniture, career growth, money, flowers, homes, vacations,
everything. In return, she gives the man three minutes to ply my at
her stinking love mound.
Women believe that they're clean, pure, and godly souls. They
appear angelic, but their minds are fuming with full-blast cuntiness.
They act meek but have swallowed more loads and licked out more
assholes than there are days on the calendar.
They possess a high holy attitude about being women, as if there's
something spiritually exalted about owning a uterus. Women think
that since they ovulate, bleed every month, and have milk dripping
out of their tits, they're special. Human females are baby machines,
just like female gerbils, hippos, and vampire bats. Women have bad
taste in music, movies, and IDEAS. I've never met another female
who enlightened me. Finally, here's a chick who rejects the concept
of "sisterhood" and has the guts to say that other women are boring,
unoriginal twats. Career women, lesbians, single mothers,
feminists, nuns, punk chicks WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE?
Though they march in protest lines, study art in Paris, and go to law
school, they inevitably lie down and give birth like the sows that
they are. When a chick tells me of her desire for a child, I punch in
a wall with my fist. But the next time some bitch tells me this, I'll
punch in her ugly face instead.
Women say they're either against abortion or pro-choice. I'm the
first woman in history to say that there should be NO choice. U
women were truly pro-choice, they'd choose to keep their fat legs
shut. But they're just talking shit when they talk about "controlling
their bodies," and they want the government (i.e., daddy) to pay for
their sloppy one -night stands. Destroy all infants, remove all
ovaries, and pay abortionists more than the president!
I was never a bitch and never will be. I'm full of hate on the outside,
but inside there's a heart of gold. With most women, it's the other
way around. Unlike the others, there's no pose here. Besides having
neither a matemal instinct nor vaginal odor, I'm brutally honest.
That's a trait other women can't tolerate. When confronted with
honesty, they run away screaming. I smile when I'm amused, not to
pry something out of a man. I say what I think, not what my
girlfriends expect me to say. Why can't they all be like me?
Because their genitals breed weakness! A cunt is a cunt is a cunt.
Your mother was a cunt, her mother was a cunt, and all your little
girls will be cunts. Shave your head, cut off your tits, sew up your
crotch, and then give me a call.
 
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